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Weekly Contest #363
The bus slows, but my eyes remain locked on the black brick resting in my hands; her voice echoes in the hollow between my ears. Our conversation is cut short by my phone’s battery. Rain pelts against the window, a crescendo of irate voices. Her angry words ring above the others and turn my limbs to ice. The bus stops and the driver stares in his mirror at me, his brows furrowed. I slide from the old leather seat and plaster a smile on my face to hide the frozen panic. With stiff limbs, I nod and step into the stormy night. Rain distorts the...
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